the gift of mastitis

chapter 923 of writing a better story commenced two nights ago with a 101.7 degree fever, aches, chills, & very sore female personals. hello, mastitis. it’s been awhile.

i, being the overly optimistic gal that i am, thought naively, “no problem. i’ll just slow down (a little bit) & amp up the vitamin C & the garlic pills. thou shall not get me down, mastitis.”

ahem.

by 7pm i was most certainly down.  andy came into the bedroom to find me under covers with two pairs of wool socks, two shirts & a hoodie, two pairs of leggings under (really cute plaid) pajama pants, & two hats.  two hats, my friends.  international indicator of frozenness.

most certainly down.

but then i thought, through a feverish haze, mastitis is quite possibly the perfect illness:  i am forced to slow down, & there’s no fear of the kids getting sick before i fully recover (because we all know what a holy tailspin that is!).  so i snuggled the 98 degree baby (my own personal, human hot water bottle), rocked him in his great, great grandma jenny’s rocking chair, & finished “you can buy happiness,” my current read.

& ya know what?  it was good.  aside from the chills, & the horrendous soreness that is mastitis, the evening was a full-on, writing-a-better-story victory.  i sat.  (insert lengthy pause.)  down.  in a chair.  for a long time.  no, don’t turn away from the screen;  i know you’re like this, too.  not taking much time for yourself.  doing all the myriad of tasks that need to get done everyday.  every.darn.day.  such is the life we choose, but gosh!  too hefty a focus on those  tasks get in the way of real living.  things like this.

& this.

because there’s a whole lot of this going on right now.  & when i spin so fast, i don’t absorb these tender moments in their fullness.  i sound like a broken record, but it is not lost on me how quickly my days flit by.  two nights ago i looked & looked & looked at little leify’s sweet, squishy cheek pressed into my shoulder over steely gray-blue eyes.  oh those eyes!  they are my downfall.  (dare i say, who needs chocolate?)

& i’m again digging in my heels to slow myself down.  to sit up & take notice of the holy gloriousness that is my life.  the 3-year-old in red footie pajamas jumping over the couch arm, pausing only to ask me if teenagers (the oldest, most able people group he can imagine.) did that.  yes, i assured him, teenagers did jump over the arms of couches.

the other by-product of an evening out of commission is an intense realization of all i do in a day.  because two nights ago, it didn’t get done.  mt. dishes was tall & teetering yesterday morning.  the trail of crumbs throughout my house could have lead hansel & gretel around the world.  entropy is the seventh member of this family.  (i have a feeling i’m not alone in this?)

every so often, it’s good to be reminded of what you contribute to the good of your own personal, in-house humanity.

so for all this:  thank you, mastitis.  though i’ll not invite you over again, you made your point.   i can honestly say i’m glad you came.

2 thoughts on “the gift of mastitis

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